Stay Safe, Smeg Head
by yueshi18
Summary: A series of oneshots featuring the characters from Tomsworld, an Eddsworld AU with switched personalities: Edd switches with Tom, and Matt with Tord. Irregular continuity. (Highest rating is M; see synopses in oneshots for details.)


**A/N: This is based off the characters from Tomsworld (on YouTube), who were based off the characters from Eddsworld. In Tomsworld, the personalities are switched—Tom's like Edd, Edd's like Tom, Matt's like Tord, Tord's like Matt—with a little extra added by the Tomsworld creator, rainy-draws. As far as "plot," this fic is more in the spirit of Eddsworld, so don't expect logic.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Eddsworld or Tomsworld.**

 _Synopsis_ _: Edd thinks of dying every day, and so he finally does—after Matt beats him to the punch. Death, blood, and coarse language ahead._

* * *

This isn't hell

Edd crawled up onto his knees and lightly shook away a coming headache. He didn't pay attention to the smoking wreck of a car in front of him. It was _supposed_ to be a smoking wreck. He thought Matt might have ruined his plans (again) when he took the car out first two days ago, but thankfully, the car still worked—sort of. It killed him, just like the commercial advertised, but where was the fire, brimstone, and tortured souls that should have greeted him? Instead, the accident only left his head feeling a little cloudy.

When his vision cleared, he found himself staring down at his bloodied body slipping off the steering wheel. He couldn't care less about how he looked, but _damn_ —he was a mess. The blood trailing from his crown was completely overdone—almost half of his face was painted red. His dark green hoodie was slowly turning into a brown one, a shade darker than his hair, as it soaked up the blood. On the other hand, the glowing, gold thread attaching himself to the body just looked stupid.

Disregarding the shit special effects, Edd sensed a bustle outside the vehicle. He didn't bother opening the car door and stuck his head—and the rest of himself—through the roof.

Tom would have enjoyed the spectacle before him. "Looks like I woke them up."

The telephone pole he toppled had fallen onto his neighbor's roof and carved a neat pathway from the guy's room to the sidewalk. How convenient, and a bit lame that his death resulted in home improvement. His neighbor should have been praising his handiwork instead of cussing up a storm. Edd didn't see what the problem was; it's not like the guy used a landline anymore.

The sound of sirens quickly approached. Edd absently thought of removing his token seatbelt to help the paramedics remove his body from the wreck.

He reached for the door handle and his hand fell through it. His ghostly brows knit for a moment. "Tch. Defective hand."

In irritation, he experimentally tugged on the gold thread that refused to leave his field of vision. Fucking eyesore.

His body twitched for a moment and hacked up some blood.

"Wow, you look like shit," a familiar—annoying, sonnuva bitch, fruitcake, dick—voice cut in.

It had to be a joke.

Edd held back a crazed laugh. His ears must be defective too, to hear a voice that should have disappeared two days ago. But he answered all the same.

"No one asked you, _Matt_ ," Edd spat, unconsciously turning away from the direction of the voice pretending to be Matt to drive him crazy. (That had to be it.) Edd was supposed to be _done_ dealing with the pranking little shit, two days enough time to sort the purple hoodie spirit into one of the nine circles that he wouldn't be going to—he just wouldn't.

Meanwhile, the paramedics ignored the ghosts and did their own thing. The nauseating glow from the gold thread was slowly fading.

"You could still go back, Edd. You still have a link," the Matt-pretender noted.

"Who needs a link," Edd replied flatly, more statement than question, eyes looking past the fading gold thread.

Edd's dream was finally coming true—he was dying and going to hell. Except the dream seemed less appealing if this bastard was going to be around.

…Does that mean he should live?

"Hey, you're turning less transparent," the Matt-pretender interrupted his thoughts. And did he sound worried?

Impossible.

Goddammit, Matt, why'd he have to bother him, even in death?! Now he's fucking flipped all of his death plans upside down! Did that mean he should aim for heaven—?

"If you don't go back to your body soon, you won't be able to—"

"Shut _up_ , Matt!"

Edd whirled around and saw Matt staring at him in mild surprise—orange hair, dumb face, dumb bandage on dumb face, light purple hoodie, jeans and all—standing there like he might have stood two days ago, before the latter's own car crash.

Standing there like he might have…

Edd's thoughts trailed off as he looked Matt up and down. Down where his feet were, there was nothing down there. His legs faded into a wisp of smoke misting in the wind.

"Pfft! Your legs are defective," Edd pointed in mockery.

The two heard the doors to the ambulance shut. At the same time, Edd felt a snap. He lifted the entirely transparent once-upon-a-time-was-gold thread and it disintegrated into nothingness. Good riddance.

Wait a moment.

Edd turned his attention back to Matt, dark circles underneath emphasizing eyes that narrowed in suspicion.

"Why are you here, Matt?" he finally asked.

Matt smacked his forehead and rolled his eyes. "I _told_ you guys not to drive the car! It's possessed and the airbags were recalled."

"So it was the airbags! No wonder my face was messed up."

They both quieted down when they heard the car's engine purr. It backed up on its own and the hood straightened out. It drove itself back into their old driveway, ready to head out once more. The next second, Tom and Tord came out of the house.

"This is terrible, Tord! First Matt, and now Edd," Tom—light blue hoodie and bottomless black pits for eyes—cried, recovering a moment later, "Oh, good thing the car's still here." Tom immediately hopped into the driver's seat.

"Wait, Tom! The car's possessed!" Tord—black overcoat with red hoodie and currently a sideways X for eyes—protested.

"We don't have time for that, Tord! Get in the car!" Tom said.

The car door shut and Edd snapped out of his daze. "Hey! I don't need more people ruining my death plans!"

The dark green hoodie ghosted over and possessed Tord. "Tom!" The voice now had an edge and was distinctly cooler, but still stupid.

Edd slammed open the driver's door, hoping to take it off, and pulled Tom out of the car. He didn't stop there.

"Tord, what's gotten into you?!" (Little did Tom know.)

Edd reached over the driver's seat and pulled the lever for the manual brake, locking the car in place. Without a word, he grabbed Tom's arm and dragged him into the house.

Tord-possessed tossed Tom onto the living room couch, "Just sit there and enjoy the show." 'Stupid Tord and his stupid voice,' Edd muttered inwardly.

("I'm not stupid! I'm perfect!" Tord's spirit railed from somewhere, his tone quickly changing to sparkly and sweet, "Oh, hi Edd!")

Edd went upstairs to his own room and scrounged some extra dynamite and a lighter left over from his last attempted Satanic ritual before heading back outside. He tossed the lit sticks in through the car window. "Have a nice trip."

He ran Tord's body back into the house before releasing him and floating outside. If the neighborhood wasn't awake already, they'd be awake now.

The explosion lit the street and gifted it with a resounding _boom!_ and a ghastly scream. An eerie visage appeared in the smoke and flames, hollowed eyes and a gaping, serrated mouth turned towards the sky in pain. Then it turned to Edd and threw a wink and a smoky thumbs up, which was promptly swallowed by the pillar of fire engulfing the accursed vehicle. A satanic star flashed at the apex.

Edd silently bid farewell to the money he used on the piece of junk.

As Edd turned his back to the crackling flames, he saw Matt still standing (floating) where he was, the glow from the fire reflecting off his face written with a neutral expression. He was staring.

And Edd would have to deal with him now.

Inwardly, Edd sighed and ran a hand down his face, his last vestiges of feelings on the matter. He didn't care anymore. He was dead, he wasn't in hell, Matt's a dick, what's new?

"What's your bag?"

"Can we fuc—?"

"No."

He responded before fully comprehending the question, as if that would stop him from understanding a few seconds later.

There was silence. Seriously, even the sound effects—the crackling flames, rustling leaves, and cursing neighbor—stopped. And Edd knew it was too much to hope for, but he hoped the "No." sunk deep into Matt's fucking balls and made him impotent. Then again, all the parts were probably defective.

Matt slowly started again, dragging out the syllables.

"…Can we—?"

"No!"

Plan B—Edd kicked at the car in an attempt to ignore Matt. "What a rip-off! This isn't—"

Edd paused with a dawning dread.

"Isn't what?" Matt sniggered.

Edd took slow, ragged breaths before bringing himself to stare down the sadistic delight on Matt's face.

"Fucking shit!"

* * *

 **Happy afterlife, Edd. (And a happier afterlife to the OG Edd.)**

 **EDIT 9/18/17: Fixed some weird formatting issues.  
**

 **Review or get pranked by Matt. Or move along and have a nice day.  
**


End file.
